Sliding cracked cedar beads, down an abacus/Calculating arguments, Afrocentric advocates/Prototypes of Atticus, who calculate in Arabic/Architects build, to celebrate black heritage /City’s scholarship, beyond Aristotle’s wit /Alexander’s books, with edits by Fatimids/Bedouins find fossilized footsteps of ascetics/The Kemetics, who honored Muhammad’s genetics/This was Timbuktu; Zaynab’s song was prophetic/And poetic, with message like Sundiata epic/Her ethics, showcase, the real from synthetic/Her voice, magnetic, consider this polemic/That Hagar was certain that water would surface/So a griot’s a wordsmith, born of her verses/They are histories servants, quenching the thirst of/A woman of truth, whose sad story had birthed them

VERSE 3:

When Mansa connects, with the black stone/Does he caravan cosmos, or trek back home/Did he hear stories of a woman on the wind?/Who’s father been the only child born within?/In his doubt, did he summon the marabout?/Legacy of Sufi scholars, who went down south/Mariboots spit truth, preserved by mouth/Is it the history of Zaynab’s victory, no doubt

VERSE 4/HOOK:

When Musa was King, Timbuktu was Knowledge/The Song of Zaynab birthed the song of Sundiata